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Prompt: Don & Sloan...whispering secrets to each other in bed.

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"I hate pineapple."

Don squints in the dark, a little more than confused by what Sloan just said. And why. He turns on his side to face her. "What?"

She turns to face him, mirroring him. "I hate pineapple," she repeats, pulling the covers up over her shoulder. "Remember when you said we didn't know stupid stuff about each other? Well…here. Pineapple. I hate it."

He smiles lazily; he's really tired, since it's three in the morning and he's been up for seventeen—no, eighteen—hours, but her voice is scratchy and low and…he really likes her this way. Sex makes Sloan really chatty.

"Your turn," she whispers, tangling her legs with his.

He hums, thinking. "I've never had lobster before."

Even through the dark, he can see the shock on her face. She sits up, blankets falling off her body. "What?!" she exclaims in disbelief. "How is that possible?"

"My mom is allergic to shellfish, so she never made it. And…I guess I never felt the need to try it."

She lays back down, letting out a sigh. "Keefer, I don't even know what to say to that. The next night we have free, we're going to The Palm. They have the best lobster rolls in the city and you are going to try it."

"Okay," he promises, hoping their next night off is sooner rather than later. Since they'd started dating, they've had a total of four nights off. In other words, not enough. "Your turn."

"My first kiss happened when I was eleven. Trevor Haynes. So bad."

"And so young," he laughs, slightly horrified. "Jesus Sloan." The covers slip off her shoulder as she shrugs. Too tired to come up with a different answer, he cops out and tells the same one. "I was sixteen."

She burrows her feet under his. "Aww. So old. Any good?"

"Oh, it was amazing." She frowns, but he ignores it and adds, "Are you kidding me? I was sixteen; any action at that point was gold."

She smirks. "Fair point." They stop for a few seconds, the idea of sleep too tempting to fight, but Sloan wants to keep playing. His voice is so calming this time of night. "I once T-P'd an ex's house. Well, I thought it was his. Turned out it was the local police chief's house; I'd gotten the address wrong."

Even though he's five seconds from sleep, he can't keep his eyes closed at that one. "You're lying."

"Cross my heart."

He pulls her closer, so they're chest to chest, hip to hip. "Did anyone ever find out?"

She shakes her head. "Nope. I didn't tell anyone. I was too afraid he was going to arrest me." Chuckling softly, she closes her eyes and thinks back. "After a few days they gave up looking for the suspect. Or…me."

"So no one knows still?"

"Nope. You're the one and only."

"I'm touched." He says it jokingly, but really…he is. It may be something small and stupid from the past, but to be Sloan's one and only of anything is enough to make him lose his breath. It's humbling.

"Okay. Last one," she mumbles drowsily. Her eyes haven't opened since she'd close them three minutes ago and he knows they have about sixty seconds before they're both out cold. "Tell me something I don't know about you." She tucks her head under his chin, lips skimming his neck.

Warmth overcomes him as he listens to their breaths, steady and rhythmic with fatigue. He knows if he was wide awake and Sloan wasn't tangled up in him, he wouldn't have the stupid confidence he's somehow gained in this sleepy state. But he whispers it anyway, since it's the only volume he can effortlessly manage, and confesses, "I really like you; more than anyone else I've ever been with."

He doesn't know if she's awake or asleep, if she's heard him or not, if she's cognizant enough to understand what he's just said, but he doesn't really care. He'll tell her over and over again until she does. Because he's never been so sure of anything in his life.